Note: Dear readers, this story was meant to be exactly 8 chapters, I had mapped out what exactly happens in each one. To keep the pacing and keep it short with minimum fluff and full of action.
But I failed miserably, I've been possessed by the comfort and the fluff, Crowley and Aziraphale had been longing for each other for so long that seems cruel to cut the fluff out.
I will keep it Teen rated.
So as I was saying, the 8 chapters have grown into 12.
Sorry not sorry.
In the dimly lit bookshop, the atmosphere was heavy with tension as Saraqael, along with the other two archangels, Michael and Uriel, delved into their dire predicament.
Muriel, loyal but not of their rank, waited patiently outside reading a book in a nearby coffee shop. It had seemed the wiser option, to choose this discreet location for their meeting to discuss the current situation outside Heaven.
The archangels couldn't shake the sense of loss that came with the reminder of their erased kin, Camael, Sandalfon, and Phanuel. Their absence stood as a haunting testament to the Metatron's malevolent interference.
Saraqael, her radiant presence casting a soothing glow amidst the tension, voiced her outrage, "This transgression is unforgivable. The Book of Life should be a sacred record, untainted by manipulation." Her expression turned somber. "Phanuel was the only one authorized to alter it on behalf of the Almighty."
Michael offered his condolences, and Saraqael's heart ached at his words. "Saraqael, I'm deeply sorry for the loss of Phanuel. You were life partners. This injustice will not go unanswered."
Uriel, her eyes ablaze with righteous fury, sought answers, "Do you know where the Book of Life is now, Saraqael?"
Saraqael nodded solemnly. "I've entrusted it to Crowley. I believe he's the only one who can keep it safe."
Michael and Uriel exchanged wary glances. "The serpent?" Uriel asked.
"He's not in Hell's payroll anymore." Saraqael explained, her voice full of confidence. "Heaven is no longer a sanctuary."
"He abducted Aziraphale from Heaven!" Uriel insisted outraged. "He's cant' be trusted!"
"No," Saraqael interrupted "He rescued Aziraphale, they love each other!" She turned to Michael his countenance stern yet compassionate. "You two can't deny it, we all have felt the love they share!"
"Love or not, the thought of the Book of Life in the hands of a demon is unsettling to say the least!" Uriel added.
"Very well," Michael conceded, his voice resolute. "The Book of Life is safe. But we have more pressing matters at hand."
As the discussion deepened, concern etched into their voices. The notion of forcing the Second Coming, as the Metatron intended, weighed heavily on their hearts.
Uriel asserted, "The Second Coming should not be forced without the Almighty's express consent. It must unfold naturally, in accordance with the Divine Plan."
Saraqael added, "We don't even know if it is meant to be."
Michael nodded in agreement, his brow furrowed in deep contemplation. "We need to address the issue of the second Antichrist already on Earth. The Metatron wants to hasten his rise, to send the hellhound before his eleventh birthday."
Uriel, her expression troubled, voiced their shared concern, "And there's the matter of the Rapture. If the Metatron skips it, he'll disrupt the delicate balance of souls meant for Paradise."
Michael paused, deep in contemplation. "I will call upon Dagon."
Uriel's eyes widened. "Dagon? She's in charge of Hell now."
Michael nodded. "Yes, for a private meeting on Earth."
Saraqael, nodded in agreement. "Better it be here, now."
Michael made the phone call, her stance at edge. To persuade Dagon to meet with such short notice, Michael mentioned Mammon, a greedy member of the Dark Council who had been erased, and Michael knew held dark memories for Dagon.
As soon as the name was mentioned, there was a swift flame, and Dagon made a soundless appearance inside the bookshop. "What kind of trickery have your lot done to Mammon?" The room seemed to grow darker, her presence marking the gravity of their gathering.
"We've done nothing." Said Michael who took the lead. "The Metatron's has been eradicating both angels and demons from the Book of Life. Hundreds of them."
Dagon, her gills flaring in agitation, shook her head. "I don't believe it!" She growled, "It couldn't go unnoticed by our master Satan." Wet noises punctuated her skepticism.
Saraqael broke the tense silence, "Abaddon" Dagon slurped eyes wide open. "Belphegor" Saraqael added aloud.
Dagon's eyes widened with recognition. "There was an alliance." Dagon rested her back into a column, sliding down into the floor. "Abaddon, the right hand of Satan, discovered it."
Michael crouched in front of Dagon. "Tell us more."
Dagon made a fishy moist noise with her mouth. "The alliance between Satan and the Metatron, Abaddon was leading a rebellion within Hell." She looked around, "He disappeared, all of us forget about the insurrection."
Taking a deep breath Michael pushed for more answers. "What about Belphegor?"
The demon was visibly shaken, her face contorting in confusion. "He is… was… part of the Dark Council, he was reluctant to destroy the world. There was a big group in hell who preferred the art of temptation and the thrill of luring humans to their side to go on." Dagon gulped. "I can't remember their names. I was tempted to side with them, but forgot about it."
Michael offered a hand to the demon, who reluctantly took it. "Will you help us to stop the Metatron?" He asked as he helped the demon to stand up.
Dagon looked at the hand in hers. "The Metatron and our lord Satan have decided to release the Hell Hound next week." Her gaze went slowly up until her eyes met with Michael. "I can't stop the Hell hound, but little more."
"It is all we need." Uriel chimed in. "Time, to expose the Metatron in front of the other angels."
Saraqael sighed with relieve. "Thanks." The union of Satan and the Metatron just made the problem more intricate and perilous than they had imagined.
Dagon let go of Michael had and with a growl "Don't thank me." She responded as her being was engulfed by flames as she went down.
The discussion turned to confronting the Metatron, a decision that carried enormous risks.
"Now" Saraqael said. "How can we make the Metatron confess?"
Crowley opened his eyes slowly, the morning sun warmed his skin. His angel was nestled against him, much like they had fallen asleep. He could feel the gentle rise and fall of Aziraphale's chest as they breathed in unison. The room was filled with a soothing warmth, a cocoon of their shared love.
Aziraphale's back pressed softly against Crowley's chest, the warmth of Aziraphale's skin seeped through the thin fabric of their clothes. Long arms tangled around the angel's middle, Crowley's fingers trailed lightly along the curve of the angel's hip, savouring the sensation of softness beneath his touch. He marveled at the way Aziraphale's hair, like spun clouds, spilled over the pillow, tickling his nose.
He inhaled the scent of Aziraphale, a mixture of books, old leather, and something sweet and uniquely angelic. It was a scent he could get lost in, a fragrance that spoke of centuries spent together. He wondered how he could maintain that aroma despite being away from the bookstore for so long.
He breathed it in content. Aziraphale hold into his arm loosely, as if he was afraid of him leaving. One of Crowley's slim legs was curled onto the warm velvety curve of Aziraphale bare tight. He felt complete, at peace, even… loved.
Aziraphale's love enveloped Crowley like a warm, comforting embrace, a gentle force that tugged at his heart and filled him with a profound sense of belonging. It was a familiar feeling, one that Aziraphale proximity had been producing for millennia. But this, having Aziraphale in his arms, was so much more powerful and… Crowley had never indulged in such fantasies. As a demon he should by principle against love. But he loved. As a supernatural being he didn't need air, sleep, substance, or fiscal contact. Despite it he was well aware of how much he enjoyed a good nap, and how alcohol affected his corporeal body.
He untangled one of his arms, and perched in his elbow to look at the angel, Aziraphale's features were extremely relaxed, a soft smile playing in his lips. He was truly an angel.
He began to untangle his legs from Aziraphale, intended to go to fetch him breakfast, but to his surprise the angel opened his eyes and turned around in his arms. "Good morning my dear."
Aziraphale was beaming at him, radiating love, he looked somehow healthy and some of the plumpness of his features had returned, as if he had healed during the night. "You look better."
"I think it is because of you." The angel was blushing, looking up at him with wonder, his blue eyes fixed upon his yellow ones. "I think, while you were holding me, you've recharged me."
Crowley couldn't help but smikr and gaze at him lovingly, "I'm going out to get us chocolate and some pastries."
"Please Crowley, stay." Aziraphale pleaded pouting.
He relented, melting onto the pillows knowing well that he should get up, act cool. But the angel was looking at him with fondness, and he was hopeless in love with him. Crowley's lips curled into a genuine smile. His laughter emerged as a soft, hissing chuckle, a sound reserved solely for Aziraphale. "Hmm." He let himself be drawn into Aziraphale's sapphire eyes, and caressed his cheek.
Aziraphale smiled in return, "I love you." Unlike the previous night, there was a security in the angel's voice that made Crowley smile, a proper heartfelt smile he had not done in a long time. "I love you." The angel said again, this time with the same timbre as when he explained a new discovered delicacy. The angel's cheeks glowed with a deep blush. He is so beautiful. Aziraphale's hands caressed his cheek. "I love you my dear Crowley." The warmth of Aziraphale's breath brushed tenderly across his face, his blue eyes glimmering with love and adoration.
Crowley closed his eyes and leaned in, their lips glided over each other smoothly, with a tenderness miles away from their first kiss. Aziraphale hands fell behind Crowley's head, holding him close as one of Crowley's hands reached for the angel's neck and the other roamed lower, pushing Aziraphale up so they were closer. The kiss was sweet and light, a chaste dance of lips, like sunshine after days of rain.
They parted, resting their foreheads against each other.
"I love you Aziraphale." The angel gazed at him lovingly, smiling wide. Crowley could feel his own cheeks flushed red and knew his eyes had lost any hint of humanity. But he didn't care, there was a rush of happiness inside of him. Crowley he had opened a dam of love he could no longer contain. His kisses rained down upon Aziraphale, he kissed the angel's beautiful cheeks, the tip of his perfect nose, his lovely chin, his rounded ears.
Aziraphale giggled delighted, kissing him back, his eyelids, his chin, his cheekbones, his lips. Crowley smiled. "Angel." he tried it to be a warning, but there was only happiness in his voice.
"I just got, carried away." The angel looked at him through his eyelashes, still giggling happily.
Laughter bubbled up from deep within Crowley, spilling out in joyous, carefree peals. He hugged Aziraphale tightly, savoring every moment. He wanted to continue like this forever, in Aziraphale's arms, kissing, laughing. Being happy like he had never been before. But he knew they were in danger. If they managed to get everything right they could be happy for eternity.
With that thought he managed to muster enough willpower to get out of bed sliding gracefully out of Aziraphale's arms. The angel sat, looking at him confused, his smile fading. "We have to work on the book. Once we figure this out we'll have all the time in the world." Crowley reached down and brushed Aziraphale cheek tenderly. "I'm going to fetch something to eat."
The angel closed his eyes, enjoying the caress, and let himself fall backwards, eyes closed and arms outstretched, the corner of his lips lifted in a triumphant smile, a smile that held a universe of promises within its curve.
Miniel found herself on a humble, low-cost bus, tracing the winding path of the A1 along the picturesque coast. She had been tirelessly honing her unique ability—a gift held by most angels—to sense love. Millennia of practice had refined her skill, allowing her to detect even the faintest flickers of love. As long as she remained within a reasonable distance, she could perceive love's radiant energy, permeating through both space and matter.
Miniel, was tasked to protect and nurture love. Yet, a part of Miniel felt like she had spent a lot of time in the past destroying that love. It was sad for an angel to not be able to fulfil her intended duties. Far too often, she had been forced to witness love's cruel demise, after her intervention the most beautiful love stories twisted into agonizing tales of pain and death in the blink of an eye. Sometimes she enjoyed it. It weighed on her, this paradox of existence, and occasionally, she couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy for the emotions she could never truly experience.
Her mission now was to locate the demon and the angel. The couple had undoubtedly ventured far from London's familiar streets. The Metatron had suggested Edinburgh as their potential destination, an eight-hour train journey that allowed Miniel to rule out the areas they passed through. She was confident they remained in England; the previous day, she had sensed the unmistakable blend of the devil's electrifying love and the angel's cloying affection, a unique distant flavor that had lingered throughout the afternoon before abruptly vanishing—indicating they had sought shelter for the night.
Miniel resisted the temptation to employ her divine miracles to teleport herself randomly. Instead, she adhered to a more grounded approach, choosing to navigate the human world as a human would. She understood that the demon and the angel would hide in places with consecrated or cursed ground to avoid being detected.
Her next destination lay in Edwinstowe, nestled within Nottinghamshire. She knew that the demon Crowley had once led there a band of thieves during the 13th century, the Metatron had informed her that in the same area and time, Aziraphale had lived in an abbey as a friar. An inkling suggested Crowley's involvement with the Robin Hood legend, though Miniel couldn't quite fathom why she held this belief. Nonetheless, she was aware of the presence of ruins—the former friars' convent—that might serve as a suitable hiding place.
As she gazed out the bus window, the sun no longer painted the sky with hues of orange and pink. Her heart fluttered as she sensed it—a brilliant beacon of electric love amidst a vast desert of emotions. It was undoubtedly Crowley, far to the south of her current position. There was no mistaking it. Yet, perplexingly, the angel was not there.
Miniel smiled content, she was going in the right direction. She looked at the clock, three hours to reach her destination. Undeterred, Miniel remained patient, for she knew that time was on her side. The waves of love surged for a mere fifteen minutes before receding once more, a signal that the demon had briefly emerged from hiding before retreating to the safety of their sanctuary. They would eventually reemerge, and when they did, Miniel was determined to be there, closer than ever before, ready to track their love to its source.
